


Battle Not With Monsters

by 2Lot



Category: Constantine (2005), Insidious (Movies), X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Demon Erik Lehnsherr, Demon Summoning, Demonic Possession, Demons, Dreams and Nightmares, Dubious Consent, Erik Has Feelings, Exorcisms, M/M, Mirror!Demon, Monsters, Nightmares, Other, Poor Charles, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stalking, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-06 16:52:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 13,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4229499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2Lot/pseuds/2Lot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demon!AU. With Erik as a demon and Charles' family as excorsists/supernatural watchers.</p><p>x</p><p>Charles and Raven are told not to look into the darkness, because one never knows what will stare back. </p><p>Being children, they do worse. They try to open a window, and instead open a door. </p><p>They are not prepared for what steps through from the other side. </p><p>x</p><p> </p><p>Elements from Constantine/Insidious, but only characters from X-men. Movie knowledge not nessecary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters will not nessecarily be in a chronological order. They're more like snipplets from Charles' life. It'll make sense, give it a shot.

"Be mine," Erik demands, again, eyes burning black. 

Charles shudders, clutching the amulet around his neck so tightly his knuckles turn white. 

"Never," he lies.

xx

“Don't look into the darkness,” their mother says, a steady mantra throughout their youths, a warning engrained into their heads long before they even know. 

They are 12 years old when she tells them. It is their shared birthday, but instead of a party in the yard, Charles and Raven get the truth. 

It's not much of a gift.

Their father thinks it's too soon, but he will always think that and Sharon knows this. She tells them, not because she thinks that they are ready, but because they need to know. Because of the danger that not knowing holds. They are getting too old to be under the constant protection of their parents for much longer.

“Don't be afraid, darling,” their mother tells Raven, who is clutching Charles' hand anxiously, “If you listen and learn, they will never touch you.”

They learn much that night, about their ancestry, about life and death, about the here and the beyond, about the space in between, about mirrors, iron, salt, and age-old incantations. They'll never need them, their mother assures, because they will never follow the path of those that came before them.  
It sounds like a fairy-tale to them, although a horrific one, unreal, intangible.

They have never met these ancestors, these generations before them that have given their lives, their blood, to fight an evil that most people don't even believe exists. 

Charles and Raven possess what they did, what their mother possesses: the power to see, and the power to act. The power to find evil and banish it back into the abyss.

But history is not destiny.

“Never look,” their mother tells them sternly, “If you don't see them, they won't see you.”

It's the best choice she can make for them, all the warning she can give, but they are children and they don't understand the implication, the true horror that lies behind her weary eyes. 

It's years before they truly catch a glimpse beyond, and by then it is already much too late.


	2. Chapter 2

'Don't look,' his mother's voice whispers in the darkness. 

Charles is 27 but he might as well be ancient. 

Restless and bone-tired, he twists and turns, cold sweat making his sheets stick to his back. He keeps his eyes tightly closed, even though he knows that there will be no sleep for him tonight. 

He wants to listen, wants to not look. 

It's pointless now of course, much too late for any kind of advice. 

They're there, hovering, whispering, lurking in the darkness all around him, and closing his eyes won't make them go away. He does it anyway, too exhausted to fight the terror gripping hold of his cold limbs, the child inside him cowering, dying to curl up and press his hands to his ears. Dying to scream until his lungs bleed. Or until the whispering in his head stops.

Panting, he forces himself to lie still, to tell himself for the millionth time that the ghost touches freezing his skin are not real, that they can't be. 

“My name is Charles Xavier. It is 03:47 AM. I am in my own apartment, in my own bed. I am here. I am here.” 

Not there. 

Not with them. 

Not with him.

He clutches the iron frame of his bed, solid proof that he is still in his world, that he is still alive. 

Raven's face swims in the darkness above, laughing at him.

xxx

Charles is walking home from university when a silhouette separates itself from the shadows, crossing his path. 

Charles grips the silver knife in his coat pocket tightly, instinctively, ready to defend himself against any form of danger. 

It takes him a second to recognize Erik, piercing gray gaze finding his from out of a shadowed face.

For a second he freezes, filled with the urge to turn on his heel and run; then, he forces himself to straighten his shoulders and stand his ground. He doesn't pull out the knife, but his grip on it is tight as he stares at the figure in the shadows. 

They stand immobile, eyes locked, for a long moment, until Erik breaks the silence.   
“You really ought to not walk alone like this after dark,” he says, his whiskey-smooth voice making Charles suppress a shiver, “There are all kinds of dangers lurking in the shadows.” 

Charles scowls, “I can take care of myself.”

Erik eyes him darkly, with an imperceptible shake of his head. “I know you think that. But you're like a lighting bug in a night sky full of bats, Charles.” 

His eyes linger on the hand hidden in Charles' coat pocket, mouth twitching, before meeting his gaze again. Charles watches his pupils dilate, pin pricks in the light of the street lamp. For a second he looks less than human, like he himself might spread dark wings any second.

Charles feels his stomach turn at the expression, flight instinct jamming into him. He fights it down with an iron will. The mouse that bolts gets jumped.

“I recon they are all scared of you, so they'll keep away now,” he bites out, meaning to sound contemptuous, but his voice is less steady than he'd hoped. 

They are all scared of him, aren't they?

The thought starts him walking again, fast. He can't do this. He makes a bee line around the other, avoiding contact at all cost. Distance. He needs to get away now.   
As always, he achieves the exact opposite of the effect that he was hoping for. Erik falls in step with him easily, gliding down the street in his impeccable winter coat like he belongs there. 

“That they will,” he says, now with a hint of satisfaction that is impossible to overhear. 

“That was not an invitation,” Charles scowls, walking faster. 

Pointless. Forever pointless. Erik keeps up with no effort at all. 

“Good thing I don't need one then,” he says, matter-of-factly.

Charles suppresses a shudder, a scream possibly. He has barely enough sense to swallow down any response, any emotion until he is in front of his house, until he has unlocked his front door and stepped over the thick line of salt that protects his home. The one space that Erik cannot enter physically at least.

Only then does he dare turn around and speak his mind, glaring coldly. 

“You think you have power here, but you don't. You never will.”

He closes the door harshly, sickened by the knowing smile dawning on the demon's face.


	3. Chapter 3

Erik is everywhere.

He is a constant shadow in Charles' back, an itch under his skin, always just there, just out of sight. He is in every dark corner, every thought, just like he wants to be.

Charles hates him for it, almost as much as he hates himself. 

It is not his fault, he tries to convince himself, but then, in a way it is, isn't it?

'Don't look,' his mother said. But he did look, no, worse, he reached out, and what reached back has its claws in him now. Irrevocably.

One touch was all it took, one brush with darkness and nowhere is safe anymore, not even the light. There is no protection from something you've invited in yourself.

His palm stings, burned by Erik's mark, forever branded. It won't be erased. Not by iron, not by silver, not by salt. 

'No takesies-backsies,' Raven's 8-year old self laughs somewhere in the darkness of his mind. 

He didn't mean to give, didn't give much at all, but just enough. 

xx

They had talked about it, he and Raven, sometimes, Charles always reluctant and nervous, growing more so over the years as he began to realize what the expression in his mother's eyes truly meant, while Raven began turning it into more and more of a joke with time, taking care to show that she was not afraid at all. He was sure it was a coping mechanism, but that didn't mean he liked it. 

She told Charles it was stupid once, that their mother was as crazy as everybody said, that there was nothing, no one out there in the dark to be afraid of. 

It was easy; they'd never seen anything. All they had were stories.

“I'll prove it to you,” Raven had whispered, lying in her bed that night, with their parents already asleep, “I'll call and there will be nothing, you'll see.” 

She'd dashed to the bathroom, Charles hot on her heels, but he'd been too slow to stop her from ripping off the cloth covering the mirror. They'd both frozen, courage suddenly shrunken as they stared at the black, shiny surface, at their pale, shadowy faces. 

“See, there's nothing to be afraid o-” Raven had tried to stay brave, but words seemed to get stuck in her throat suddenly as she wavered, both of them staring too hard into the blackness. 

What was that? Something there, in their seemingly twisted reflections, in the corner of the room....no, not in the room....in the mirror....a movement, a shadow- 

It had been enough. 

Real or not, Charles had ripped the cloth from Raven's hands and flung it back over the mirror. Dragged his sister back into their bedroom and locked the door tightly. 

They'd never spoken of it after, not even as they got older, not even laughingly. Not even when other kids at school talked about their own memories of playing Bloody Mary. Charles wanted to laugh, and he thought maybe Raven wanted to, too, but he couldn't shake that small icy feeling in his chest, that fear that maybe he wasn't being ridiculous, that maybe his eyes hadn't betrayed him that night.

They never tempted fate again.

Until they did. 

xxx


	4. Chapter 4

The woman begs him to do it. 

Even though Charles tells her he can't, repeatedly, she won't back off. His reputation is questionable at best, but somehow the right people always end up finding their way to his door. He finds that when it comes to last resorts, most people are very quick to leave behind their doubts and reservations, willing to try anything that might possibly work. 

Charles knows that what he needs to do is refuse, that even if he helps this one person, or that next person next week, in the long run he won't accomplish anything but his own destruction. 

But she sits, crumpled, at his desk and cries over the picture of her dead daughter and Charles packs his bag, sage, silver, iron, salt, and lets her drive him to her home. 

Her daughter's room hasn't been touched since the death, she says, but Charles feels the dark presence she described instantly, almost without having to reach out. Years of practice make it sickeningly easy to spot a darkling, even in hiding. 

“Please help her into the light,” the woman sobs by the door, “Please tell her that she doesn't need to worry about us here, that she can move on and find rest.”

Despite his years of experience with this situation, Charles has to turn away for a second then, hide his face from her. Then he pulls himself together and nods, false assurance. 

He goes about his task methodically. The mirror he asks for is placed on the bed, face-up. Then he closes the door in the family's faces. 

What comes next is the part that takes the most will-power. 

Letting go and freeing, even for a second, even a fraction of an inch, of what he usually bottles up with such care, never gets any less hard, or less terrifying. He needs to be sure though, that the darkling is in the room with him, and so he draws it in, gives it a glimpse of that shine that they are all addicted to, that they are all craving. It's next to nothing, comparatively, a weak flicker of a flame that truly burns a thousand times more brightly inside him, but it is more than enough. 

It's a honey trap that the darkling can't resist. 

He sees it clearly, in that second in which he makes himself look, and it stares back, the personification of all his nightmares combined swirling around him, reaching, grasping hungrily for what it cannot have.

'Beautiful, so beautiful, look at me, again, again, more, give me-' 

He ignores the whispers, even though they raise every single hair on his body, as he spreads lines of salt on the threshold and the windowsills. 

'Give me, come, more, more- so bright...delectable...let me have-'

He burns the sage next, begins muttering well-rehearsed incantations as he waves it over the mirror. 

It's an act of sheer will-power to look into the mirror, but he has to, and sure enough, there it is, drawn by his gaze, staring back out of black bottomless terrible eyes, hissing, features contorting, twisting as it peers at Charles longingly. 

Charles gazes back blankly, stoically, and reaches out, making the creature shriek in excitement. It reaches back, hungrily, mirroring his motion with disturbing synchronicity. Charles leans in until his fingertips are barely an inch from the surface of the mirror, then, quickly, he nicks his finger on its iron frame and blood wells up. The darkling screeches when he smears it across the mirror surface in one swift movement. It recoils, twisting in earnest, pained, repulsed, but Charles is chanting again, louder. 

'Curse you- you and all of yours-!' 

He keeps chanting, and the iron in his blood traps the darkling in place. Almost done, almost over.

'I will get you, we will get you- one day- you think you can get away?! We are eternal! Send us back as many times as you'd like, one time will be your last! We will have you, just like the others, just like your precious s-'

With an iron hammer, Charles smashes the mirror into a million pieces. 

Silence surrounds him as he sinks to his knees.

Later, when he's managed to stand up, he tells the family to burn the mirror shards. He tells them that her daughter's spirit has found peace now. Their tearful relief is almost enough to ease his own pain. Almost.

He drags himself home and collapses in bed. 

This time was just one darkling. It wasn't as physically exhausting as other times can be, but the emotional toll is enough to nearly immobilize him for the rest of the day.

He lies in bed and doesn't try to sleep. 

The whispers haunt him. 

He's afraid to close his eyes, knows he will only see her face.

x

Erik calls him that evening, like he has some sixth sense for knowing when Charles is feeling crappy. 

Charles curses himself for not having looked at the caller ID before answering, but he is still half out of it, thoughts dangerously displaced. 

“How are you, Charles?” 

Charles rolls onto his back with a dry laugh. He doesn't ask how Erik has his phone number; he's long since learned the futility of such questions. 

He should hang up, without another word, but he's weak that evening, and the sound of Erik's voice makes the cruel whispers in the back of Charles' mind fade a bit. 

“Bloody fantastic,” he says, scathingly, “And how is the soul-stealing-business?”

Erik, infuriatingly as always, isn't even the least bit ruffled. “You know I don't steal souls, Charles,” he replies easily.

“I don't have the energy for your mind games now,” Charles growls. 

“I should think not, after that exorcism today,” Erik says, like Charles shot him a memo about it or something, like they converse. “Why do you do that to yourself? Knowing how it drains you.”

Charles grinds his teeth at the gentle worry in the demon's voice. It sounds so real that it makes him want to smash the phone.   
“It's my purpose,” he means to be stoic, but he just ends up sounding incredibly tired.

“No, Charles, it's not,” Erik says softly, and his tone of regret is finally too much.

“You do not decide that,” he snaps, too harsh, truly defensive now. 

Erik doesn't respond to the words, just like he's ignored the first million versions of them that Charles has thrown at him over time.

“Let me come over,” he says instead, “into your house. I'll cook you dinner.”

Charles hangs up, careful to not even attempt an answer.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, there is a thermos with noodle soup on his doorstep when Charles leaves the house. It doesn't have a note but Erik's fingerprints are practically all over it.

Charles steps past it, making a mental note to ask his neighbor to throw it into the trash later.

Technically, throwing away something Erik is trying to give him bears no risk, but Charles isn't going to chance anything when it comes to demons and their agendas. He won't touch it.

He's been waiting for the other shoe to drop for years, no matter how convincingly Erik keeps telling him that he is just being friendly. That he cares. 

Laughable.

Demons never offer anything without a price. Erik is the most persistent so far in trying to lull him in, but Charles isn't losing his edge. He isn't.

Even if his stomach is growling from the second he smells the soup all the way to his workplace.

x

The day gets worse from there.

“I know you're not just an occultist professor,” Moira MacTaggert says, once again having stubbornly followed Charles to his office after class. 

Charles sinks into his desk chair with a heavy sigh, unable to completely hide his exhaustion. Maybe he shouldn't have come in today already, not after yesterday. But he cannot keep letting his family curse interfere with his job, his teaching. 

“I don't know what you want me to say, Ms MacTaggert,” he mutters tiredly, “I appreciate your fascination with the occult but I am afraid that there is no documented evidence of the kind of things you've been describing to me.”

“I researched your family,” Moira says brazenly, stubbornly, eyes blazing with unspoken thoughts. 

Charles carefully takes a sip of lukewarm tea. “Myths, I'm afraid,” he says calmly, “Nothing but old legends and superstitious town folk. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Moira's eyes narrow as she leans over his desk. “I know you know. About what's beyond. I read all about it. Seen it's effects on people. The other beings -darklings- they use the tears between planes that are created when people die to enter into our reality. People think that they are ghosts, the souls of the people who died who cannot find peace, but they aren't, are they!? They are evil entities just waiting to gain influence here, to possess-”

“That's a lovely theory for a term paper, my dear,” Charles mutters, “I would love to read all about it once you've developed the theorem. Until then, I'm afraid, I have a rather busy day.”

“It's not a theory and you know it!” Moira snaps, “Your family has been fighting these things for generations, your mother and sister-”

“I'll thank you to leave my office,” Charles interrupts suddenly, sharp, cold, “Now, if you will.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Professor-” Moira balks, looking somewhere between shocked and offended.

Charles can only imagine his expression given this reaction, but he can't bring himself to care in that moment. He gets up and grabs his things instead of saying any more, deciding it's better to leave than to further argue with his student. 

“Close the door behind you,” he tells Moira without looking back. 

Rushing down the hallway towards the exit, he knows he's just made things worse, that now she'll be only more suspicious of him, but her sudden mention of his family was a hard blow to his already cracked shell. He can't do this now, not today, can't think about-

He hurries outside, to where there's fresh air and no suffocating, constraining walls. The sounds of birds and traffic fill his ears, but they do little to distract him from the swell of sound fragments and images that Moira has unthinkingly dragged up. 

Home, he just needs to get home-

He waits by the street, hailing a taxi and slumping into the backseat of the first one that stops. The moment he's closed the door, they take off and Charles blinks in surprise. He hasn't even given an address yet-

His stomach drops when he sees the taxi driver's empty gaze, his robotic movements, and the man sitting in the passenger seat.

Charles grabs the door handle, trying to get out of the vehicle, but the doors lock instantly, seemingly on their own, the driver's hands never leaving the steering wheel.

“Let me out,” Charles hisses. 

“Don't be ridiculous, Charles,” Erik replies as he keeps calmly steering them through traffic, “I'm just giving you a ride home, not kidnapping you. Believe me, you'd know the difference.”

“Would I?” Charles snaps, fighting not to let his nerves shine through. 

Part of him doubts that he would. Erik has always been ridiculously good about handling him with kid gloves, no matter how mundane or frightening his actions. But...he also knows what Erik wants from him, and that it is not something he can get through force.  
Erik doesn't want him physically damaged. This knowledge alone is what keeps him from risking all and making them crash by slamming a piece of metal into the demon's neck.

“I don't-”

“Just taking you home,” Erik interrupts again, infuriatingly calm as he takes the wind of his sails, “It's faster and cheaper than hailing a real taxi. You've had a tough day.”

Like that's his concern.

“I'm not accepting this, you are making me-”

“Yes, yes,” Erik sighs, exasperated, “You're still safe inside your bounds, Charles. This is all me. Not that I could trade a car ride for much if I wanted to...” He sighs again, looking truly bothered as he watches Charles in the rear view mirror. “Is it so hard to believe that I just want you to get home safely?” 

“Yes,” Charles glares. 

He knows that technically it's true, a ride home wouldn't be much of a wish and thus not warrant a huge sacrifice...but it's different here....because it's Erik. Erik already has too much of him; he has a claim. All he still needs is Charles' acquiescence, his invitation, to have all. And lord knows what tiny things demons are willing to interpret as invitations. Charles doesn’t know where the line is exactly, where Erik's hold would start, but he isn't about to find out.

“Is that why you didn't eat the soup?” Erik asks, shaking his head incredulously, “Because you think I'm trying to trick you into trading yourself for it?” He sounds offended now, like he has any right.

“Because that isn't what you do,” Charles snaps. 

He's given up trying to get out of the car for now, mostly because he can see that Erik is steering it towards his house. Not because he trusts him in the least. No.

Erik looks back at him intently, the car not slowing down at all even when he turns around to fully face him. The driver doesn't even seem to see them. He's a glaring reminder of what making a deal with a demon gets you.

Charles instinctively presses himself further into the seat when Erik leans into his space, clear eyes pinning him like a butterfly. 

“You know exactly what I want from you, Charles. What you don't seem to want to understand is that I want you to give it to me. Freely.” He's dangerously close now, somehow securely balanced between seats, and Charles swallows convulsively, fingers itching to grab the iron in his bag. 

Erik would be faster though, and if he touches him-

“That'll never happen,” he grits out from behind clenched teeth, but his anger is only a thin layer over his frayed nerves anymore. 

Erik smiles, forever seeing right through him. “Oh, darling” he sighs, long fingers tracing Charles' face just inches from touching his skin, “if I was a less patient man, I would simply take you away with me and keep you somewhere far away from this place until you let yourself see the truth. I wouldn’t needs tricks, or deals, not when you're already mine.”

Not true, Charles wants to scream, but he doesn't, for the same reason that he doesn’t try to bat the demon's hovering hand away: he knows better. Erik can't drag him into the darkness, not unless he goes willingly, but he certainly could lock him up in a remote place in this world, with enough effort and tenacy.

“Why am I still here then?” he still bites out, challengingly, tauntingly.

Erik just smiles his unsettling smile, not the least bit ruffled.

“Maybe I like indulging you,” he breathes, eyes growing darker as his pupils take over the gray, “Maybe I want you whole, not broken.” 

Charles swallows hard, staring back unblinkingly for too long, before he catches himself. 

“I'll never give myself to you,” he swears darkly, “And you have nothing to bargain with, nothing I want.”

“Oh,” Erik whispers against his cheek, “but I do.”

And just like that he is gone.


	7. Chapter 7

It's a lie to say that Erik has nothing to bargain with.

He could offer Charles all kinds of tempting things, and threaten him with even worse.

Many a demon has tried before him, drawn by Charles' light when he was still not as adept at cloaking it. They promised him wealth, irresistible beauty, power, the whole works...

Nothing has worked so far.

Charles knows all too well that any wish made to a demon will be twisted and then turned into your worst nightmare. He's seen it all too often. 

The man who wished to walk again but who didn't specify he didn't want to be in excruciating pain with every step he took. The one who wished to fly, but unfortunately not to land. The woman who wished to be with the man she loved forever, but not for him to not be brain dead after that horrible accident. The man who wished to be king, and was turned into a chess piece for his trouble. 

The list is endless. 

Once the demons realized that Charles knew about their tricks, they threatened him and the ones he cared about, tried to scare him into making a deal. 

It's not difficult for a demon to be scary, especially if it has control of a human body. Charles can exorcise the ones that are possessing bodies 'unjustly', but a body rightfully given...all he can do is slow them down with metal and salt.   
Demon won't kill people usually, though they could, simply because they are out for their souls and in order to get those a deal needs to be made. For Charles, it's similar. They crave his light, but they cannot take it from him.

That doesn't mean he hasn’t been roughed up his fair share. They don't like him much, demons. He's sent to many of them back. 

He's just lucky that there is hardly anyone left for them to threaten him with. His students he tells about the dangers of summoning demons, and those that do sell their souls, he can't save anyway. 

Knowing that makes it fractionally easier to resist threats and stomach the losses he does suffer.

It still keeps him up at night. 

Erik though...Erik has never truly gone down any of these avenues, too smart to waste his time. He's opted for the long con, for trying to make Charles believe he cares, that he loves him, that they could be together and happy. That Charles would be safe with him.

It's utterly ridiculous. 

But, oh, so convincing.

xxx

The day he met Erik was the day Raven broke up with her first boyfriend. 

She was completely in tears over it and her little clique of friends came over to cheer her up. Their parents were visiting family, and not due to be back until the next morning.

“I'm alright, Charles, really, don't be such a worry wart,” Raven said, pinching his cheeks just a little too hard, “It's just beer, we're not children. I just don't want to hurt for a bit.” 

Charles almost didn’t leave, almost decided to post-pone his study session at the library when he looked at his sister's face, the red cheeks, the smudged mascara. But she was smiling, happy for the first time in days now that her mind was being taken off of Hank, and so Charles only nodded, kissed her cheek and left her be.

He was long gone by the time Angel and Alex started drunkenly rummaging through his parents' library, eventually digging up the long-forgotten, dusty books with the Latin incantations. 

He didn't return in time.


	8. Chapter 8

He dreams about the night he lost Raven constantly. The presence of darklings causes nightmares in anyone, but he knows they cannot be blamed for all of it. 

Often it's his own mind that makes him afraid to shut his eyes.

He has to sleep, however, and when he does he is back at his parents' house, unlocking the front door after a long night of studying at the library. 

It's always the same scene. 

He can hear the panicked shouting and crying almost before he opens the door. 

Raven's friends are sitting on the library floor, distraught as they stare at the old books and Raven's motionless, pallid body on the carpet next to them. 

Charles rushes to her side, every time, tries to shake her awake even though he knows what's happened without explanation. 

On that day, he had that tiny, ridiculous shimmer of hope that she had just had too much to drink, that maybe she'd tripped and hit her head.   
But in his dreams he always knows what she's done. 

She's looked. 

Their mother told them never to look, but she's done it, to impress her friends, to prove something to herself. She's opened the books and read the wrong lines out loud, unprepared, with no plan, no line of defense. 

'We just wanted to have some fun,' Angel cries somewhere in the dark corners of his mind, 'We didn't think it would actually work! What's wrong with her? What's happening?!'

Charles's mind replays how he looked at the book then...he sees the instructions they haven't followed correctly. No iron, no salt circle, no devil's trap. No sacrifice. 

His dreaming mind replays how he called his mother in a panic, her horrified voice, the promise to rush back, the plea to do nothing. Her voice is imperative.

But Raven's body is starting to feel cold in his arms, and he is losing his sister as she is getting sucked into an abyss he never wanted them to see, and Charles knows that he cannot wait. 

So, he closes his eyes and looks. Really looks, for the first time, the way his mother explained to him how to do it, and not. He is not prepared, not anchored in any way, and he slips immediately, just like Raven must have. He sinks into darkness, into hell, unable to stop once he's made the first step. 

He finds a lot of things there in the darkness, staring back at him, turning and stalking closer the moment they take notice of his presence. He can see his own light then, for the first time, a golden aura, like a flame in the dark.   
He sees the dark creatures for the first time, their distorted, blackened features, like the shadows of human faces, eye sockets black and hollow as they stare at him, whispering, hissing. Wanting, reaching. 

Charles scrambles back, instantly terrified. There is no way out that he can see, no end to this vast, icy darkness. His eyes flit around for any other source of light, for the surface – they land on her. 

Raven, lying motionless in the shadows, glowing, but faintly, nothing compared to his own light. One of her hands is raised as though in defense, but it is weak and trembling. The creatures are hovering all around her, and it seems like they are glowing as well, as though they are absorbing her light- 

With a jolt of horror, he realizes what is happening. Her light, her only defense, her soul- they've sucked it out of her, devoured her, and now there's barely anything left-

'Raven, no!' 

His scream doesn't echo, somehow cut off, not carried, by the thick air around them. He scrambles to get to his sister but as soon as he tries to move, he realizes he is stuck to the ground, black, sticky goo clinging to him like tar.   
He screams, struggles to free himself but it's like the ground is sucking him in, black, wet quicksand threatening to drown him. He can't get to her, can't get away from them, helpless to watch as some monster hovers over his sister and she raises her trembling hand, blasting it with a ray of bright light in defense.   
It does nothing, not at all affecting what they were told their light could do against the darklings. Instead the monster simply swallows up Raven's light, swelling as it ingests it. 

Charles sees the light in his sister burn out there and then, the last of it leaving her body. He screams again, unheard, when her white hand falls, boneless, only to be swallowed by black goo. 

'No!! Raven! Raven, RAVEN-'

She doesn't hear him, her empty eyes staring upward like molten, cooling wax. 

With her light gone, the creatures slowly turn towards him, new, endless hunger in their featureless stares. 

'Have you, too, delicious, so bright, so beautiful- no power here-' 

Charles tries to scramble away, terrified by the whispering monsters closing in, but he is trapped, glued to the spot with no way out. He raises his one free hand, unthinking, defensive- his light, he needs to use it against them, to keep them away, but-

It is then that HE steps out of the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting :D 
> 
> Feel free to ask any question you may have, or suggest what you'd like to see happen.

Charles only registers the new presence because the other creatures seem to back away, quickly, as though reverent or maybe fearful.   
The creature is nothing but a shadow either, vaguely man-shaped, but as he stalks closer, his gait disturbingly human, Charles thinks he is staring up into blazing eyes, red and black embers. They burn into him, into his retina, his cells, his membranes, and Charles stares back, frozen-

Then, he -it- moves closer, and Charles snaps out of his stupor, hand coming up instinctively in defense. He sees the glow, the light concentrated there, his body doing what it was created to do without instruction. The bright flare has all the monsters around him lunge forward, snapping and hissing, only to be knocked back by a gust of wind, or energy, or maybe darkness itself. 

By him-

The wind carries a voice that sounds so unearthly that it raises every single hair on Charles body, dark power smacking from the sound,

'Mine.' 

The sound is utterly terrifying, to the shadows as well as Charles, who recoils in terror in time with them. Unlike them though, he doesn't get far. 

The creature steps forward again, undisputed in its claim now and Charles unthinkingly lashes out, blasting it with a flash of white-hot light. The creature shudders, smoke body quivering as it absorbs the light, not deterred at all.   
Charles flinches back in horror, finally realizing that he has as little control over his powers as Raven. He can't use it as a defense...it is not hurting that thing, it is being devoured, eaten-

'No, no, no-' he whispers, cries, despair filling him, black like the world around him. 

He has no protection, no way to get out-

The creature glides closer, eyes burning Charles' skin and he raises his hand to protect himself, despite knowing it is pointless, just trying to ward the thing off, to stop it from getting to him. 'No-'

'Mine,' the monster whispers back, and black shadow morphs into something like an arm in front of Charles' eyes. Fingers, long and black with wickedly sharp nails morph into existence, reaching for him.   
When the creature touches him, it feels like white hot needles piercing his palm. Charles screams, body jolting like he's been hit by lightening as a strange, unknown power rushes through him-

He is pulled back, in just that second, by strong, warm hands, out of the floor and away from him. 

Charles convulses, twisting, gasping, his body still seizing from the fraction of a touch that has left his palm burning like fire. The creatures all around are screeching, hissing hatefully, at the source of warmth he feels in his back.

Charles turns, finds his mother staring back out of the darkness, eyes blazing and fierce. 

Relief rushes through him. She's here, she's come in time, they're saved.

His mother is clutching his arms tightly, chanting, incantations that he couldn’t remember himself but that he knows will get them back to reality. Too late, he realizes that Raven isn't with them, unmoved still in the darkness, cold and empty-eyed. 

'Mother!' he tries to shout, but he goes unheard under her chanting. They are dissolving, disappearing, the darkeness is fading around them and so is the image of Raven- 'No, we can't leave her, no-!'

His mother pulls them back into reality with so much strength that he feels the tear all through his body. Charles screams, for a moment certain that his hand has been ripped off, that that thing, that creature has kept it's hold on it- 

He comes to curled up on the floor of the library, panting, shaking, next to his mother and Raven. His mother is white as a sheet, trembling with exhaustion, seeming out of it still. Charles clutches her hand, crying, whispering rushed pleas and apologies and thanks.   
With his other hand, he grips his sister's hand, squeezing it tightly to feel the warm rush of blood under her skin. 

'Alive, alive', they've made it out, he thinks, even as he fades in and out of consciousness. 

The last thing he feels is Raven's hand suddenly twitching and then pulling away from him. 

The last thing he sees before he passes out is Raven getting to her feet, lightly, full of energy that she shouldn’t have, and leaning over his fading mother. There is a smile on her face that is disturbingly wrong, foreign, her eyes blazing again but somehow still empty as she gazes down at the woman. 

“She offered nothing,” she whispers, almost gently, “I am only taking what is mine. Goodbye, watcher.”

Then, without another look back, Raven gets up and walks out.

Charles never sees her again.


	10. Chapter 10

Charles visits his childhood home on his mother's birthday.

Not that he wants to. Not that he is welcome.

His father greets him with the ever same gaze of poorly hidden bitterness, and though he hugs him and asks him inside, Charles feels just as much an intruder as he has on any previous visit in the past 11 years. 

His mother is sitting in the armchair in Raven's old room when he goes to greet her, the same spot that he last saw her in exactly one year ago. Her foggy eyes go right through him as he kneels down in front of her. She doesn't seem to feel it when he squeezes her hand. 

“I'm sorry,” Charles whispers, throat closed up, “I haven't found her. Not yet. But I will. Please, I-”

He makes himself stop, knowing he'll only further twist the knife. If his mother can hear him in her state, there is certainly nothing he could say that she'd want to hear.

He leaves, disheartened, feeling empty inside, like a drained battery. Like there is no point in recharging yet again, only to be sucked dry once more...less and less left every time.

He doesn't trust himself to drive back to the city right away so he wanders for some time, mindless, and somehow finds himself sitting on a nearby park bench. It's the one he and Raven used to sit on as kids watching the ducks in the pond. 

The park is empty now, so dark and deserted it almost seems otherworldly. 

 

Charles' right hand stings and tingles, not quite a phantom pain. Charles raises his it and moves his fingers, bending them, but it's no use. It never is. 

Strong, gloved fingers wrap around his hand unasked, appearing out of the space between blinking. Erik pulls Charles' hand to his face and kisses his palm, reverently, almost regretful. 

Charles barely flinches anymore, having expected Erik sooner or later. He should be shouting at him for coming here, here of all places, how dare he- 

All he does is to sit though, eyes fluttering as he bites back a curse when the touch actually eases his discomfort. More than that...It's like a lover's kiss and, for a second, Erik's lips on his skin are the only warmth he feels in his whole body.

Warmth is what he came here to find, foolishly. 

This is the reality of things, a twisted, sick mockery of comfort his only option. 

And it still feels better than the cold. 

He presses his eyes shut, struggling for countenance. Taking care to expunge the automatic spark of guilt he feels for not trying to pull away with the reminder that Erik is much too strong. Even if his grip is terribly gentle now. 

“You know this wouldn't actually have to bother you, don't you?” Erik asks quietly, thumb rubbing light circles into Charles' flesh. “It's mental. If you stopped picking at the scab-”

'If you stopped fighting.'

Charles rips his hand away from Erik, managing to get free because the demon lets him. 

“Don't lecture me about scars you have made.”

Erik regards him with a raised eyebrow, cool skepticism mixed with crippling indulgence. “It's not a scar, Charles. It's a mark. A promise now.”

“I never wanted any promises from you,” Charles spits, but there is no energy behind it. They've had this conversation too often and he is too emotionally drained and raw to even attempt it again.

If only Erik chose to catch on to that clue. But he is forever persistent.

“I have part of you, so it's only fair I gave you something in return.” He goes on before Charles can deny it, “I could give you so much more...anything you want, Charles. I can make it so you never lack anything again. I could end your loneliness, your pain-”

He leans over, and even though he's not touching him, it's like coming too close to a flame-

“No-” Charles turns away, breaking off before his voice does. He isn't sure what he meant to deny, the mere offer, or the truth of what Erik is saying. Not that it matters- no...

“You can't give me what I want,” he whispers, more to himself than to the demon who must already know. “Now go away, unless you'd like to rob me of my grieving as well.”

For a moment it seems as though Erik tenses next to him, as though he takes a breath to reply, but Charles doesn't turn around to look. Moments later there is a shift in the air and he knows he is all alone again. 

He clutches his hand to his chest, suddenly freezing cold.


	11. Chapter 11

“What about the sacrifice?” Moira asks, hand raised, as always, before Charles has even finished explaining. “Different texts describe different kinds of sacrifices that need to be offered in order to get a wish from a demon.”

She's too interested, as always. 

Charles answers truthfully anyway, because this truth is something that his whole class should know and remember, in case any of them are stupid enough to ever open a true shadow book. 

“Different texts all hint at the one universal rule for the summoning of a demon. A sacrifice is needed, always. Even before a demand, or a wish, has been uttered, even before a demon is called forth, a sacrifice needs to be available. Traditionally this will be an animal or even some human blood, depending on the demon and the demand.”

He doesn't linger too long on the human blood aspect, the chilling implication of it, but he's sure that some of his students understand anyway. The more powerful the demon, the more blood is needed, and the darker the magic gets. 

“This is what most people don't know about demon summoning, what ends up being their downfall. Neglecting to offer a sacrifice will have the same effect as making a mistake in drawing the devil's trap, or creating a barrier too weak for the particular demon you call. One mistake and the demon won't be caged in, and it won't be obliged to do your bidding. Worse, it will not be detained and therefore free to do whatever it pleases, which is-”

“Possess people.” Moira. Again.

“Yes, Ms. MacTaggert. Precisely that. Why? The demon's goal isn't to fulfill your wish. It wants your soul. Offering a wish is merely a means to get you to trade your soul away. Demons live separated from this world, in darkness, deprived of any warmth or light they once knew. They cannot restore themselves by taking your soul but they can consume it, live off of it for a time- until the next soul. Think of it a artificial sweetener if you will. It will do but you will always crave sugar.”

“And that's how people get fat,” someone in the rows further up jokes to his neighbor. 

Charles smiles weakly. “Thank you, Mr. Travis, for expanding on my point. Would you also happen to know what happens when demons possess people?”

Mr. Travis stops laughing. 

Moira answers for him. Her hand is up for a millisecond but her mouth has opened long before Charles can even take note of it.

“Possessing people will give demons the means to act in our physical world, to not just be shadows. It elevates them from having to wait for someone to summon them. They can go out, find people who are unhappy, susceptible to suggestion, and get them to make a deal directly. Every moment there are numerous dark spirits trapped in other dimensions, just waiting for a chance to cross over, to be real again.”

“Thank you,” Charles nods. 

He doesn't mention the darklings that cross over without being summoned, instead slipping through the cracks after a death and floating around invisibly to such the joy and energy out of people. It's not in the book, and he'll sound crazy saying it, even to these people. 

“Professor, I'm not sure I understand.” Another student finally. “If demons can possess people they can also be exorcised right? Do you get your soul back then?”

Charles feels his fake smile leave his face entirely. “No. A soul that was given knowingly, willingly, can never be retaken. It will be lost, consumed. However, if the person summoning a demon didn't know what they were doing, if they didn't mean to make a deal, their soul is still there, just suppressed by the demon inside the body. It will feed off of it, disintegrating it bit by bit, torturing it long enough...until the person finally gives in. Gives away their soul.” He swallows, unclenching his fingers from the edge of his desk. “...but, if an exorcism is performed before that, the person can be saved.”

Charles sits quiet for a second too long, eyes glassy, before he remembers where he is.  
He becomes acutely aware of his staring into space when Moira clears her throat in the first row.

Charles blinks rapidly, pulling himself together one last time.

“Be that as it may, the, as always hypothetical, lesson to take away from this is to never summon a demon. It is simply not worth the risk or the price. In any case, always remember: a demon cannot take anything from you permanently without you specifically offering. It's out biggest safety net. Like a locked door that you are holding the key to. That and salt. Remember the salt, people.”   
Skeptical looks now, some whispering. Maybe that sounded a touch too serious.   
He sighs. “Right, that will be all for today. On Monday we are going to talk about witches. Thank you.”

He breathes a sigh of relief when his students begin to trickle out of the lecture hall. Demons is a necessary part of his syllabus, something he cannot very well get around teaching the occult, but it is still always hard for him to keep a professional distance. To just teach what is in books, plus a little truth where he thinks it could save lives, but never too much, never enough to reveal what he truly is. 

These kids are interested in the supernatural, most of them because they've seen too many horror movies, not because they truly think any of it is real. For the few that do, and there are always some each semester, he takes care to stress how dangerous it is to try and call on anything otherworldly. Once or twice, when he could see something dangerous brewing, when he heard true intent behind a students questions, he has gone out of his way to talk that student out of a dangerous, stupid plan. It has worked. Mostly.

He makes it a point not to think about the people he couldn't save from themselves. 

In the time he has been teaching here, he has exorcized four demons who took advantage of a missing sacrifice from his students' bodies. It is a huge effort, a terrible strain, nearly impossible to do alone, and always a huge risk to the person doing it.   
He has done it anyway, the way he does it whenever necessary for any case of possession outside of the university that he comes across. 

Because he has to. Because it is his duty. 

Even if it is slowly killing him. 

Even if all of their faces look like Raven's.


	12. Chapter 12

“One thing I wonder,” Erik says casually, perching on the edge of Charles' desk.

Charles head snaps up at the sound of his voice. He hasn't been paying attention to the students slowly trailing out of the lecture hall, or to anyone coming in. Bloody hell, if only the dean would have not thrown that fit about Charles hitting iron nails into the door frames here. But apparently that was even too cooky for an occult professor. 

As a result, he isn't even safe here. 

“I told you not to come here,” he hisses under his breath, not wanting the rest of the students to take note. 

“You tell me a great many things, Charles,” Erik hums, idly playing with the clasp of Charles' bag, “I'm never sure which ones you really mean.”

“Yes, you are,” Charles grinds out from behind clenched teeth. Having Erik here is setting him more on edge that normal even- this is where his students are, people he cares to protect. 

“Oh, lighten up, Charles,” Erik sighs, somehow reading his mind, again. “You just said it yourself. I can do nothing to them without them asking me first.” 

Not true, Charles thinks grimly, but Erik carries on, not bothered. “Which brings me back to my original question: Since you know my limitations so well, why are you so worried you'll accidentally make a wish or a trade? Why not have some chicken-noodle soup once in a while, huh?” His raised eyebrow speaks volumes.

Charles almost lets himself be lulled into rolling his eyes. He quickly sobers up. Because they are not bantering. This isn't friendly. This is chess.

He gets out of his chair, needing the physical high-ground before he can glare at Erik to any effect. “I know you think I'm like some cracked egg that you only need to flick so many more times before it breaks open- but. I. Am. Not. Buying It. You got that? I'm not falling for your act- or your lies. We both know exactly what's different, what I'm worried about.”

Yes. They are different.

Whereas other people's doors are locked, with them holding the key to making a deal, Charles' door has already been opened once...and something on the other side made a copy of his key. No, not something. Just Erik. Erik doesn't need much to get in now; he isn't bound by rules in the way that other demons are.  
All there is left for Charles to do, all he has been doing, is to push himself against that door with all his strength, trying to keep it shut. He has so far, but Erik is pushing hard from the other side, and he is getting tired. 

Charles' palm stings and he clenches it tightly on the table, refusing to break eye contact. “I'm not letting you in.”

Erik leans in, looking at him with that gaze that is near impossible to hold and that tangles up Charles' insides without fail.  
“You know,” he lowers his voice, “I think that's not because you're afraid of what I'll do....but you're afraid you will like it.”

Charles stares, scandalized, furious, and he tries to shout at the demon for the sheer gall- but somehow the words just won't come, stuck in his throat, as he stares back at Erik, sucked into those burning eyes-

“Professor?” 

Charles startles, face flushing hot when he realizes how close it was to Erik's. He straightens up hastily to find himself faced with Moira.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she says, eying Erik curiously.

Erik who hasn't even moved away, still perched too close, too familiar, but who now leans forward before Charles can stop him, giving Moira a look of mild condescension.

“You are actually. I'm about to take Charles to dinner,” his smile turns saccharine, “But since I assume you're here to apologize for your rude behavior the other day, we will take a minute.”

Moira can only blink in reaction, somewhere between offended, shocked, and flustered. First time Charles has seen her be shushed effectively. 

“The other day?”

Erik nods, clearly unimpressed with her. “It's not polite to snoop into other people's private business, Moira. I’m sure you wouldn’t like it if someone did it to you.”

There is just the slightest hint of darkness to his tone, and Charles minute amazement at seeing Moira shut up turns to worry, because this is Erik.

Moira, who seems completely baffled now, finally shakes her head and furrows her brows. “I’m sorry, who are you again?”

Aaaand, that's more than enough.

“Ms MacTaggert, I'm afraid we'll need to get going now,” Charles interrupts, “I'm sure I'll see you during office hours. Now we must be off. Erik-”

When neither student nor demon react, Charles recklessly grabs Erik's arm, pulling. Erik, who has been worryingly fixated on Moira, turns around, immediately distracted by Charles surprisingly initiating contact. A slow smiles curls the corner of this mouth and Charles barely keeps himself from glowering openly. 

“You said we were going to be late,” he says, in his best imitation of civility. 

“Of course, darling,” Erik isn't even trying to hide his smile as he straightens up languidly, audacious enough to put an arm around him as they walk out. Charles can feel Moira's gaze burning into his back, about three inches above Erik's hand.

He twists out of Erik's grip as soon as they are out of sight. 

“Stay away from my students.”

Erik is still smiling that insufferable, pleased smile. “I won't be tempted if you actually come have dinner with me.”

Charles balks, alarm bells ringing automatically, “I don't make deals-”

“Then don't,” Erik shushes him, “Just walk in this direction until we come by a restaurant and then sit down and eat. While I happen to be there. Come now, I'll even let you pay. Unless you want me to go find Ms MacTaggert.”

Charles stop arguing then, and goes. It's not like he has a choice.

He might as well resent Erik over some pasta.


	13. Chapter 13

Even when Charles is already sat at the restaurant table he can't quite believe he is actually doing this.  
Sitting down to eat with Erik, like it's in any way normal or acceptable when he should be running in the other direction as fast as he could, consequences be damned. 

He stares across the table where Erik is sitting with the menu in his hands, perfectly civil as he flashes a smile at him. Not a hint of teeth. He is playing his role extraordinarily well tonight, but Charles doesn't forget they are there. 

He will never forget what Erik is behind his human mask, no matter how many years pass like this, in this deceptive status quo. He will never forget that Erik is like that lion in the zoo that stares at the visitors knocking on the glass, looking perfectly calm, tame even, while it is really just waiting for the day when the glass will break.

If he wasn't having quite such a bad week, he wouldn’t be putting up with this. He'd call Erik's bluff about Moira, fight him if he had to...but god damn it, he's bloody tired. 

The thought of expending all that energy, only to end up not really hurting the demon in the end...

He just needs a break, and it has to be now, he hasn't got the energy to delay it any further....and it's bloody infuriating because he knows that Erik saw that, sees that. That he is counting on it. 

“Fuck you,” he mutters into his hands as he rubs his burning eyes.

It's all the animosity he can muster tonight; pointless of course, because he is sitting here, isn't he - but he'll be damned if he hands Erik this win on a silver platter. 

Erik just smiles and tells him to order his food. 

x

He tries his best to ignore Erik as he eats. 

The food is delicious. Charles only realized just how hungry he was when when it was put in front of him, steaming and savory. He's made sure to order for himself and pay immediately so that's one thing less to worry about at least. The low-level headache he's had since god-knows-when fades almost immediately, some energy rushing back into him.

God, he needed that. 

Relief is washed away rather quickly by annoyance when he remembers that Erik got him to eat, and that if not for this detour, he probably would have forgotten to yet again tonight.

He glares up at the demon, who is just sitting there, watching him with a pleased smile, that isn't so much glib as it is...no. 

Swallowing hard, Charles sets down his fork, and frowns even harder. No, he didn't just see that. And if he did, it wasn't real. Either way, it didn't make something in his chest catch for just a blink. He knows all of Erik's tricks.

“Don't look so pleased with yourself,” he chides.

“Ah, but I AM so very pleased with how our evening is turning out,” Erik retorts, actually managing to make that taunt sound genuine somehow. “I'm so glad you finally accepted to have dinner with me.”

He makes to pour Charles some more of his wine, but the human beats him to it. If Erik thinks he is going to forsake precaution just because they are playing out this charade for once, he is sorely mistaken. 

“I accepted nothing from you,” Charles warns, sobering, “I'm just eating here so you'll leave my student alone.”

“Such a noble sacrifice when I know you have that empty flat of yours to return to, and all those hot pockets to ignore. Come now, Charles, can't you just enjoy yourself for a little while? I promise it won't hurt.” Erik's smile refuses to fade, much too knowing, and Charles feels himself bristling. He hates when Erik does that...knowing too much....

He refuses to take the bait, goes on eating instead, but Erik's gaze doesn't lift from him, and Charles can feel it more and more acutely as the seconds pass by. 

God, if only he'd stop looking at him that way... The feeling is familiar; he has it several times a day, because Erik is a bloody stalker, but it's ten times more unnerving when the man is doing it sitting right in front of him.

“See something interesting?” he finally asks testily.

“Immensely,” Erik says, with too many teeth again, but before Charles can glare properly, Erik surprises him by sobering up, his brow furrowing lightly. “But no, if you'd like to know honestly, you look terrible.”

Charles raises an eyebrow, “Charming.”

“No,” Erik shakes his head, and before Charles can think to react, his long fingers are tracing the dark circles under his left eye. “I mean you look very tired.”

Charles flinches back a second too late, with the soft, warm touch already burned into his tissue. Erik tsks softly, shaking his head like he is being unreasonably difficult.

“If you have trouble getting to sleep, I could help with that,” he offers, like he is serious. Charles grinds his teeth because he fucking is. 

“I'm sure you could,” he bites out venomously. 

They both know about his insomnia, and at this stage he could probably only get a good night's rest with supernatural intervention, but he'll be damned... 

“Of course, you’re so stubbornly bent on exhausting yourself...I might just have to tie you to the bed.” 

He says that completely nonchalant, matter of factly, and Charles sputters, actually forgetting his words for a moment as the corresponding image flashes brightly across his mind. He pushes it away violently, before he can feel anything but angeralarmdisgust at the thought. 

“In your dreams,” he snaps, willing his pulse down when Erik's grin turns nothing short of wolfish. 

“Always.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik pushes Charles, and Charles pushes back too hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, thanks for coming back for another chapter. Thank you for reading and commenting!
> 
> Since there were some questions last chapter, I thought I'd recapitulate: 
> 
> What exactly are Erik's powers/limitations: 
> 
> Well, since he has a human body, Erik can do anything that a normal human could. Darklings/Demons are spirits that usually are trapped in another realm (beyond); they can escape through tears in the fabric between realities that happen when people die and leave the real world. That doesn't mean they automatically have a body though. They can lurk unseen and drain people's joy/engery (kinda like invisible dementors lol) but in order to do real damage they need to possess a human body.  
> In human shape, they can do whatever humans can, though they are stronger and have demon powers as well, like telekinesis/teleportation and such. The only thing they can't do is control people/their thoughts without permission (That's free will for ya).  
> They can suggest, and push people to the edge, but people have to take the plunge themselves to be possessed/lose their souls. So basically, demons could e.g. kill someone with a human host body, but then they wouldn't get that person's soul. What they want is the soul and that can only be given away. 
> 
> Same goes for Erik: he could do/take whatever he wants to basically, except things that have to be given freely. 
> 
> Charles can only excorcise demons that are possessing bodies wrongfully/that haven't been given to them. What is Erik's backstory you ask? We'll get to that :)
> 
> Anyway, hope that cleared some things up. If you have more questions, or scenes you think should be included, please let me know! 
> 
> Best, 2Lot

“Stop it,” Charles snaps, too forceful. Too affected.

He hears it in his tone and gnashes his teeth, angry at himself.

God damnit, they are not doing this spiel again, he is not- 

Shame curls in his stomach somewhere, the reminder that he should be nothing but terrified at a demon's suggestion to tie him up. Not- not...

And he used to be...just yesterday...or forever ago...back when he still used to have nightmares of himself lying in bed, with Erik hovering over him, ready to kill him. Back before those dreams, too, somehow got twisted...

“I was just joking,“ Erik says lightly, and Charles digs his fingernails into his palms.

“No, you weren't.“

No, he wasn't.

Erik does nothing without purpose, and even if at times Charles loses sight of what he thinks that purpose is, he is always certain that there is one, an agenda. 

He sees that, knows that, and yet it is just so easy at times to fall for Erik's act, to be swept up by it. 

Like now, when Erik is giving the perfect performance, sitting there with his perfect face, his perfect smile, flirtatious, and so familiar...like perfect, shiny bait, everything Charles craves wrapped up in a beautiful package, held out on a silver platter.

“No, I wasn't,“ Erik admits, with a glint in his eye, playful and somehow smoldering, managing to make even the admission part of his farce.  
And gods, it looks and sounds so real, like Erik actually, genuinely, wants him that way...and who knows, maybe he does, maybe that's even part of his power trip, getting Charles to say yes to that, too... 

Charles feels his cheeks heat up and his stomach turn in revulsion. 

“I'm not that pathetic,“ he hisses. 

He isn't. 

True, he has had no one in years, no intimacy, no familiar, not in any way. Not since he lost his family. And Erik is using that knowledge shamelessly, twisting his loneliness into desire at every turn.  
But he isn't fooled. Demons can't love. All they want is souls, his light. Erik might have found his sore spot, and he certainly has been pushing it shamelessly, trying every angle, but Charles 'knows' it's just strategy, cold calculation, hunger.

“Of course not,“ Erik frowns at his words, like he is actually bothered that Charles would draw that conclusion. “You're far from it. I haven’t encountered anyone with your strength in centuries. Which is why I worry all the more at how drained you seem.“

He looks so human right then, so honest-

'Stop it!' Charles wants to scream. Instead he goes for a low blow, because why not, it's Erik whole M.O. “Well, I don’t imagine you meet a wide range of people trapped in hell.“

He doesnt know what he hopes for, maybe just a tiny crack in Erik's mask, a small slip into anger -crazy to want to make a demon angry- but again, he ends up with nothing.

“I made it count,“ Erik smiles at him in that telling way that always gets Charles, with that same look that Charles father used to get when he would talk about meeting his mother for the first time. 

That look that speaks of something that is impossible for Erik, and like oxygen to Charles.

'I could give you anything, everything...you'll never want for anything again.' 

The words ring in his head, and he hates how they twist his heart every time. Erik's eyes always say that, no matter the situation, no matter the mood or topic. Always. 

When he used to accompany Charles back home from school at night, just like he escorts him back from uni now, saying, 'It's not safe out here. I'll watch out for you.'  
When he makes him foods, and brings him coffee, somehow always knowing when Charles is at the lowest point of his day. 

When he steps in between him and actual dangers -Charles has stopped counting the number of times he has almost run into traffic blindly, or put his trust in the wrong stranger over the years- always saving him.

When he has just been there, silent company in his darkest hours, no matter how adamantly Charles told him to leave. A constant companion in an otherwise empty world. 

The only one who knows him anymore. The only one who looks at him that way. Like he is missed. Like he is beautiful. Like he matters.

Always. Always.

Lies. All lies.

So brilliant. So cruel.

He hates Erik, for playing with him like that, almost as much as he hates himself for letting him.  
Because he IS 'letting' him, because he wants, wants, wants- even now-

The feeling of sickness grows overwhelming. 

“I think I'm done here,“ Charles says, voice thick, stumbling out of his chair with the sudden, frantic need to get away from the flame before he eviscerates himself by flying too close. 

Hastily, he stands, not looking at Erik or anyone, not until there are long, slender fingers curling around his forearm, holding him back.

“Let go of me,“ he gnashes out, the beginnings of an especially painful Latin incantation on the tip of his tongue.

Erik looks up at him skeptically, warningly but unimpressed, with one eye brow raised. “Calm down, Charles, this really isn't-“

But Charles is done. 

He doesn’t even care anymore that there people around who might see, let them think what they will when Erik falls to the ground hissing in pain. He never should have come here, should have known what it would do to him to only slip for a second.

He starts chanting, “Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio-“  
There is a certain amount of satisfaction in seeing Erik flinch, that infernal flash in his eye that finally betrays his true form for once, the instinctive snarl that mars his face.

“Charles, don't-“ Erik warns, fingers digging into Charles' arm. 

It hurts much less than it could, Charles has seen Erik's claws. He goes on hissing under his breath, fueled by pain and fury. 

“Omnis and congregatio secta diabolica. Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, dominates-“

Erik's visage twists, in a way that's truly frightening, like something trying to push out from under his skin, and though it's useless, it feels damn good seeing the truth, being physically reminded-

The next second Charles wishes he hadn’t just thought that. 

Erik's eyes flash onyx and then Charles feels himself being ripped out of his chair and through the fabric of reality, away, into darkness.


	15. Chapter 15

Charles can count on one hand the number of times Erik has dragged him through space via his powers. He hasn't in years, and the second he does it again, Charles remembers with crystal clarity why he used to get so upset about it that it made Erik refrain from it eventually.

It's terrifying.

Worse than ever without any kind of warning given. It's like a bucket of icy water being dumped over his head, a bone-chilling reminder of what the demon is capable of. Of the ugly truth.

Charles was sure he hadn’t lost his edge around Erik, that he hadn’t forgotten the danger -but being ripped out of his seat is like a scab being ripped off a wound, one he didn't even realize was there until every horror scenario of what could happen slams into him like a freight train. 

The darkness only lasts for a second, then the world rushes back, and he can feel the ground under his feet again, and the wall that Erik pushes him against, caging him in. The street they're in is only dimly lit, and he can't see where they are, if they're still within reality – can't even try to focus because his eyes are fixed on Erik, who is gazing down at him, eyes burning. Where did he take him, what-

Instinct takes over even through the shock, makes him reach for a weapon, but his hands are empty, one still trapped in Erik's grip, and his satchel is back at the restaurant.  
He nearly starts chanting again, but pure survival instinct makes his mouth snap shut before he makes things even worse for himself. 'Never hurt anything you can't kill,' his dad used to say. Or was it, 'Never anger anything'? Either way, he's already done it-  
All because Erik seemed so human- so, so stupid-

Erik holds him still like it's nothing, strength carefully measured around Charles' bony wrist. 

“That hurt,“ he says quietly, too quiet. His demeanor is calm, but his eyes are flaring, sparks of black fire betraying the mask. Even with his human face is back in place, the eyes betray him.

“Really, Charles, I try to have a nice conversation and you try to peel off my face? I thought we were past that.“

“Take me back,“ Charles gasps, trying but unable to keep the fear he feels out of his voice. 

He can't even attempt to make it sound like a command, but what would be the point anyway? He can't command Erik, can't oppose him. Not really. Not if Erik has decided to stop indulging him. Has he? Is this it? Will he-?

Erik shakes his head. “And that would be the only thing more suspicious than the vanishing we just did.”  
Watching Charles cringe at the reminder, he then gently chides, “Now don't give me that look, you knew I couldn't let you expose me to those people there. And I'm sure you much prefer this solution to me dealing with any witnesses.“

The way he says it, Charles knows it's not a taunt, like it was with Moira, not a way to rile him up. Charles feels himself shudder, stomach roiling, and he isn't sure if it's fear for those people that Erik's casual indifference invokes, or fear for himself. Usually Erik puts so much effort into pretending that he isn't this frightening monster, and this sudden shift is deeply unsettling. Has Erik stopped caring? Gotten tried of it?

“Where am I?“ he forces the question out, even though he already dreads the answer he might get. 

It takes all he has out of him to stay outwardly still, while on the inside he is pushing down panic so he can get ready to spring into action, his head filling with every single -pointless- fighting strategy he knows.

“Home.“ 

Charles blinks, confused enough to be pulled out of his feverish thoughts. What?

Erik sighs seeing his expression, exasperated and long-suffering, like Charles is somehow doing him an injustice. “Did you mean to go somewhere else?“ he quips, like they're still bantering, like it hasn't all rapidly changed in a second. 

Home-

Blinking rapidly, Charles looks around, finding that it is in fact his street they're standing in, his own door he's got his back to. Erik took him home-  
He doesn't take the time to think about how to feel about that, instantly fumbling for the keys in his pockets. Not even he is stupid enough to just stand there and make the same mistake twice. 

He can't even try to turn around though before Erik catches his free hand in his as well, stilling him. 

Charles' heart rate spikes, a new wave of dread washing over him. He's so close to safety, but with no way to get there-  
Erik makes a gentle shushing noise as he pulls him away from the door and into his space. His hands around Charles' wrists are like velvet-covered manacles. 

“No, not yet,” he mutters, leaning in much too close. One of his hands comes to rest on Charles' back, pulling him in until he can feel the demon's breath on his face. What was all kinds of shameful and confusing to Charles before is nothing but terrifiying right now though. There's no blurred lines; there's just a lion and no glass.  
Erik pulls him closer still and breathing normally seems impossible now, all that's left is dragging in shallow, erratic wisps of air.

“Shsh, your heart's beating so fast, Charles.“ Erik's eyes are liquid obsidian in the dim light, shifting between familiar and terrifyingly inhuman. The way they are looking at him has him forget how to breathe altogether. “I didn't mean to spook you. I'm sorry. You're alright. It's alright.“

'No, it isn't', he wants to scream, but survival instinct still won't let him open his mouth. His mind is racing...Erik brought him home, but he isn't letting him go...he wants something, what-

Erik studies him closely for a moment that feels like forever, fingertips tightening slightly on his trembling back. He looks almost hurt when he shakes his head, “All these years...how long is it going to take for you to realize that you're safe with me?“ The keys are suddenly gone from his hand, lightly clasped in the one Erik brings up to his face. The cold metal grazes his cheek in stark contrast to the warm contact of Erik's thumb. “Don't you think that if I wanted you harm, it wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world?“

Erik's voice is nothing but gentle, like he actually intends to reassure him with those words, not make Charles flash back to images of how the hands around him have cracked bones and skulls like egg shells. His face is earnest, open. Like there is real pain behind his eyes.

“You're most precious to me, Charles, isn't that obvious? I'd never want a single hair on your head harmed.“ 

Iron....he needs iron...the keys are metal....there's salt behind him, but he can't get to it-

Erik sighs again when he gets no response. “One would think you'd have no choice but to trust me after everything. But I suppose... in the end, it's something that must be given. I want you to try to trust me, Charles.“

“Let me go then,“ Charles answers immediately, pressed. 

He knows Erik won't buy that even before he's finished speaking.

The demon only shakes his head no, much too calm, too resolved about all this. “But we've tried that, haven't we?“ He motions around them, at the house, the street, like he is making a point. “Ive let you have this...because it reassured you, made you feel safer. But it's been years and we seem to be getting nowhere. I think it's time you step out of your comfort zone.“

Charles gapes, incredulous, “You think this is my comfort zone?“

It comes out sounding dangerously close to a hiss but Erik just smiles, undeterred. “I want to try a little experiment.“  
Charles goes back from angry to panicking in under a second. He does not like at all where this is going. If Erik can see his fear, he doesn't react to it.

“The way I see it,” the demon muses, voice dropping, “...the only thing that’s holding you back from giving in to what you want is fear of the consequences. So what if I promise, No consequences?” His gaze on Charles is warm, inviting. “Let me show you how it could be, what you could have. Just for a night. You don’t have to give up anything, cross no lines-“

Charles just stares up at him, wordless, thoughts racing as fast as his heart. He can barely begin to think about what Erik is saying, much less analyze it – 

“It's a loophole, Charles,” Erik goes on, sounding like that is something to be excited about. Charles can barely hear him over the blood rushing through his ears. “Do you understand? You don't have to go, don't have to say yes- no risk. Just don't say anything, and I'll take you. You will be exactly as safe as you have been the past ten years.“

Just as safe as always -so not at all. It doesnt even have to be a trap in the wording...if this is Erik just deciding to take him away, to lock him up somehwere, to try and make him give up his soul- If this is the end of their fragile staus quo, Charles can do nothing to stop it.

“How's that a choice?“ he manages to get out. He feels nothing but distress, but somehow his voice sounds betrayed, like he actually... no, stop. It's bad enough. 

Erik frowns at his question, the first time he seems to really react to Charles, and whatever he sees in his face, he looks truly bothered for a moment. Then, without a word, Erik reaches around him, easily unlocking Charles' front door and pushing it open. He lets go of his wrist and straightens up, but doesn't step back.  
Charles stands frozen, afraid to even move a muscle.

“Trust me,“ Erik says, imploring, “Just this once. What have you got to lose? I know you want to come with me. It'll be easy. Just don't do anything.“

Just stand here and let yourself be taken. Charles doesnt have to think about it. Whatever he wanted before, all he wants now is to get away. 

Charles stumbles backwards into his house, over the line of salt. He gets a second of seeing Erik's face fall, then he slams the door shut in the demon's face.


End file.
